


quiet afternoons

by a_splash_of_stucky



Series: Happy Steve Bingo 2018 [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Baking, Cute, Dad Steve Rogers, Dad!Steve, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Schmoop, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 20:51:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16272113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_splash_of_stucky/pseuds/a_splash_of_stucky
Summary: Steve loves spending afternoons with his little one.





	quiet afternoons

**Author's Note:**

> It’s my birthday, so here’s a fic that uses the prompt ‘Birthday Cake’. Written for @happystevebingo

“Daddy is the cake ready yet?”

“Yeah, it looks about done,” Steve replies, pulling out his wooden skewer and tossing it into the bin. “Get back a bit, bub, it’s hot over here.”

Steve turns the oven off and dons his oven mitts (they’re hot pink, courtesy of Natasha), then pulls the vanilla sponge cake out of the oven. It looks utterly delicious; golden brown, with just a few small cracks on top. He pops the cake out of its springform tin, then sets in on a wire rack to cool down.

“It smells yummy!” Sarah exclaims.

“Don’t you eat any of it, missy,” Steve says teasingly, as he ruffles her golden curls. “The cake’s for Papa’s birthday, so you gotta wait before you can it eat, okay?”

“Can’t I get a little bit? Just this much?” Sarah asks, pressing her thumb and index finger close together, until there’s hardly any space between them.

“Not even that much.”

“Aw, only a little, Daddy,  _please_?” she begs, blinking up at him with her big eyes. She has a very effective sad-puppy face, and it takes the entirety of Steve’s resolve not to give into her request.

“No, bubba, you gotta be patient,” he says gently. “C’mon. You can help me mix the icing.”

Sarah huffs. “Fine.”

While Steve gets the ingredients that they’ll need, Sarah drags her step stool over to the kitchen island. At nine-almost-ten years old, she’s not quite tall enough to be able to comfortably reach the counter, so Steve keeps a foldable step ladder under the kitchen sink for her to use when she’s helping him out.

“I need one and a half cups of this, please,” Steve tells her, handing her a measuring cup and a bag of icing sugar. “Just put it all into the mixing bowl.”

“One and a half cups,” she echoes. “Got it.”

“And try not to get any of it on your clothes this time,” Steve tells her.

“That was only ‘cause Uncle Clint scared me!” Sarah protests. “I didn’t mean to!”

“I know, bubba, I know,” Steve says, laughing gently. “I was only teasing, I didn’t mean it.”

“Uncle Clint’s scary sometimes,” Sarah mutters, as she carefully scoops the sugar into her measuring cup with a spoon.

“He is,” Steve agrees, “Especially when he falls out of the ceiling vents.”

Whilst Sarah deals with the sugar, Steve busies himself by measuring out the butter and cutting it into small cubes. He’d taken it out of the fridge an hour ago, so the butter is soft and easy to cut.

Baking with Sarah is quite possibly one of Steve’s all-time favourite things to do in the entire world. He loves spending quiet afternoons with his little one, trying out new recipes to add to their ever-growing repertoire. The fact that they get to enjoy a lovely treat at the end of it all is just an added bonus.

Once cut into cubes, Steve dumps the butter into the mixing bowl, on top of the sugar. He then whips out his hand-mixer and creams the butter and sugar together, until the mixture is smooth and creamy. Sarah watches patiently by his side.

“Can you measure out the milk for me?” he asks her, “D’you remember how much?”

“Two tablespoons, right?” she asks, as she pulls the milk bottle closer.

“Yep. Just pour it in here — great job, bub.”

“Can I add the vanilla too?”

“Yeah, just a teaspoon — yep, that’s enough.”

Steve lets the mixer run for a little longer, until he’s sure that the milk and vanilla have been properly incorporated. Once he’s satisfied with the consistency of the icing, he turns off his mixer and places the wands into the sink, to be washed later. When he turns back to the kitchen island, he catches Sarah hastily taking her finger out of her mouth; the mischievous glimmer in her eyes tells Steve that she’s done something cheeky.

“Sarah,” he says slowly, putting his hands on his hips. “Did you steal some of the icing?”

She flashes him a toothy grin. “Only ‘cause I wanted to check if it tasted good,” she replies.

“Oh yeah? Did it taste good?”

She hums, tapping her finger on her chin as she pretends to think. “I think…I need to check on more time,” she says, before quickly swiping her finger through the mixture and scooping some icing into her mouth.

“Hey!” Steve cries.

“Yup!” Sarah says, nodding authoritatively as she licks her lips. “It tastes yummy.”

Steve snorts, and pointedly moves the bowl further away from his daughter. “If we don’t have enough icing to decorate the cake, I’ll know why.”

Sarah giggles in response.

Steve gets two smaller bowls out of the kitchen cupboard, then pours a third of the icing into each. “What colours d’you wanna do, bubba?” he asks.

“Unicorn colours!” she replies enthusiastically. “Pink, purple and blue — but the light versions. And then can we put the silver ball thingies on top? And the rainbow sprinkles too?”

“Sure can,” Steve replies, as he pulls out the gel food colouring that they’ll need. “Here — this is the pink one. Just one drop’ll be enough, if you want it to be light pink.”

He talks Sarah through the process of properly folding the food colouring through the icing mixture whilst he mixes up the bowl of purple icing. Steve lets Sarah make the light blue icing by herself whilst he hunts through the cupboards for the box of assorted sprinkles that he knows they have.

“Daddy? I think the cake’s cool enough.”

“Is it?” Steve asks, just as he finds the box of cake decorations. “Lemme check.”

After giving the cake an experimental tap with his finger, he nods in agreement. “Yeah, I think you’re right. Lemme put it on the cake stand, and then we can decorate.”

“I wanna do it in stripes,” Sarah tells him. “Purple, then pink — no, actually, I think purple should be in the middle. Um, so, pink, purple and then blue.”

“Okay — but we don’t have a piping bag, so the lines won’t be super straight,” Steve warns her, as he transfers the cake onto a ceramic cake stand. “But I think it’ll look okay, if we’re careful about it.”

Steve figures that the best way for them to achieve Sarah’s intended look is if she dollops the icing on, and Steve smooths it out with his palette knife. Luckily, they’ve got just enough icing to cover the whole cake, although there are a few spots on the sides that look more naked than others. Sure, the end result looks a little rustic and definitely homemade, but that’s the charm of home-baking, after all.

He belatedly realises that the cake looks like the bi flag when you’re looking at it from above — Bucky’ll get a kick out of that, Steve thinks wryly.

With the cake fully iced, Steve leaves Sarah to add the finishing touches in the form of sprinkles, sugar flowers and edible silver pearls. She’s humming quietly to herself — the theme tune to one of her favourite shows, Steve realises — as she arranges the decorations on top of the cake. Her pink tongue is poking out of the corner of her mouth and her brows are furrowed in concentration.

Steve feels his heart swell with joy at the sight.

Tempting as it is to just stand there and watch her, Steve forces himself to take care of the dishes. He washes up thoroughly but efficiently, and leaves everything in the dishwasher to drip-dry.

“Finished!” Sarah announces, just as Steve is rinsing off the last bowl.

“Yeah?” he says, “Lemme see.”

Sarah has done an excellent job with the cake, in Steve’s opinion. She’s not gone overboard with sprinkles, as Steve had feared she would do. Instead, she’s exercised a surprising amount of restraint; in the centre of the round cake are a few sugar flowers, which are surrounded by some rainbow sprinkles. Silver edible pearls have been arranged around the perimeter of the cake, with regular intervals between each one.

“We can put the candle here,” Sarah tells him, pointing to a little gap that she’s left in the middle of the flowers.

“We sure can,” Steve agrees, bending down to peck her cheek. “It’s beautiful, bubba — Papa’s gonna love it.”

As if on cue, at that moment, Steve hears the telltale jingle of keys in the lock, followed by the gentle creak of the door swinging open.

“Steve? I’m back!” Bucky calls.

“In here!”

Seconds later, Bucky appears in the kitchen doorway, dripping in sweat from his run. Strands of hair are clinging to his temples, and his cheeks are flushed from exertion. There’s a huge sweat patch on his chest, and his skin is glistening in the sunlight.

“Hey,” Bucky says, lips curving into a grin. “My two favourite people in the entire— _wow_  that cake looks amazing.”

“It’s for you!” says Sarah. “Me and Daddy made it!”

“Daddy and I,” Steve corrects her absently, smoothing her hair over her ear with his fingers.

“Did you?” Bucky says, coming over to inspect the cake. “Is this why you told me to go on a really really super-duper extra long run?”

“Yup!” Sarah says, nodding vigorously. “We almost didn’t have a cake because Daddy forgot the baking powder, but I reminded him.”

“Did he now?” Bucky asks, his gaze flicking over to meet Steve.

Steve groans. “ _Sarah_ ,” he sighs, “I thought we weren’t gonna tell Papa.”

“It’s a good thing you remembered, bubba,” Bucky says, ignoring Steve and dropping a kiss on Sarah’s forehead.

She wrinkles her nose in disgust. “ _Papa_ ,” she whines, “You’re all sweaty and gross!”

Steve laughs. Bucky huffs and presses a hand to his chest.

“My own daughter rejects me!” he cries, “Oh, the pain!”

Steve snorts. “Cut it out, ya’ drama queen,” he says, shoving Bucky’s shoulder playfully. “Go shower, then we’ll head over to Nat’s place for dinner.”

Bucky catches his wrist and pulls Steve closer, until their chests are flush together. He presses his lips to Steve’s in a fleeting kiss, and gives Steve’s hips an affectionate squeeze.

“Thanks, Stevie,” he says quietly, sincerely. “I love the cake.”

Steve grins, leaning forward to press another kiss to his husband’s lips. “Happy birthday, honey.”

**Author's Note:**

> [rebloggable version](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/post/178971852645/quiet-afternoons/)


End file.
